


A Room Sunk Down In A House In A Town

by ever_neutral



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_neutral/pseuds/ever_neutral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Embrace the depravity. (Not in that way.) </p><p>Unadulterated gen fluff. S3 setting. Cameo by Damon’s alcohol stash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room Sunk Down In A House In A Town

  
It’s a dull Friday night. Elena studies her reflection.

She looks good. Like she’s ready for anything. Caroline’s called her to come out to some party or other, some mindless social event Elena would once have been enthusiastic about. Is enthusiastic about. She’s enthused. She’s the picture of enthusiasm. She straightened her hair fresh out of the shower and everything.

The person in the mirror doesn’t look convinced.

Elena swallows. Exhales. Picks up her phone, and sends the necessary message: Don’t look for me. I won’t be there.

She sits on her bed. Looks out through her window. A lone star beams in the inky blackness. A murmur in her head tells her she’s a failure, a selfish little girl in love with her own isolation.

Enough.

Elena springs up. Goes to her closet, and rips a leather jacket off a hanger. Turns her back on her empty room.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy calls.

“To be with friends,” she answers.

\---

She drives to the Salvatore mansion.

Okay, so it’s the next step up from being alone. A baby step. But she’s all for those.

When she lets herself in, it’s Alaric who greets her in the front parlour. He’s pouring a glass of scotch, looking vaguely guilty.

“Elena? What are you doing here?”

She blinks. “Is Damon here? I was gonna get him to…” Trails off. Not sure what she means to say next.

Alaric nods in an accommodating fashion. “Liz called. He’ll be back in an hour or so. I’m just, uh…” He resumes pouring.

“Right.” Elena stifles a smirk. “So I take it you guys are back to normal?”

Alaric snorts. “What normal?”

“Does Damon usually let you loot his scotch?’

“I don’t care what he thinks.” Alaric raises the glass to his mouth.

Elena smiles. It’s adorable, really.

A beat goes by. Then,

“Pour me one?”

\---

An hour and a half later, they’re drinking straight from the bottle.

Lying blitzed on the rug, head resting against cushions propped against the couch (because there isn’t enough room on the couch itself for the both of them to lay down, obviously), Elena decides there are worse ways to spend an evening.

“I am a bad student.”

“You’re not a bad student,” Alaric replies automatically.

“I am, Ric! I haven’t done any of your readings for months.” She puts her hands up. “There, I freely admit it.”

“No, you wanna know what being a bad student is? It’s citing all your sources from Wikipedia.”

Elena leans toward him. “Who did that?”

“Nobody.”

“Was it Steve?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I bet it was Steve.”

“What I’m saying, Elena –” Alaric takes another swig. “– is that you have extenuating circumstances.”

She slumps back, lets out a puff of air through her lips. “Yep. If my life were any more _extenuating_ , we’d be on Mars.”

“I think there’s something wrong with that sentence.”

“Running a bakery. With Martians. Ooh, d’you think Damon would hate the Martians?”

“Damon hates everybody.”

“He would totally hate the Martians. Even though they’ve done nothing to him. Jackass.”

“Ugh, this is so inappropriate.”

She swings her bottle to and fro. “What is?”

“I am spending Friday night getting drunk with my dead girlfriend’s niece…” He takes a long swallow of his scotch. “… slash dead wife’s biological daughter and, oh yeah, my student.”

Elena thinks. “You’re also, like, best friends with the guy who killed your wife—who was also my biological mother.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. We’re in this together.” She clinks their bottles together.

Alaric groans. “Where did we go wrong?”

“Embrace the depravity, Ric.”

This is how Damon finds them—blithe and inebriated on the floor of his parlor, two bottles of his finest whisky strewn haphazardly on the rug.

“What are you people doing?” he moans. “Leave my liquor alone.”

Elena dissolves into giggles. She can’t help it. It must be contagious, because soon Alaric is doubled over with laughter too. Damon is by them in a flash, snatching the bottles away, muttering something that sounds a lot like “Why do I even hang out with you losers?”

It occurs to Elena then that this is the most she’s laughed in months. It’s an odd thought, settling heavy in her throat, nearly choking her.

Noticing her sudden quiet, Alaric nudges her. “Hey, are you okay?”

She considers the question. Finally, she nods. Smiles. “This is me happy.”


End file.
